


Routine

by neckwear



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M, literally just random fluff put together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 10:59:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4703573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neckwear/pseuds/neckwear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya and Gaby are used to the unexpected. In each other, they can find something they both need - routine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Routine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [katyfaise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katyfaise/gifts).



> This is literally just a bunch of fluff put together and the title sort of made sense but idk. And my first tmfu fic so! i hope you all enjoy!

The transition is seamless, it seems. One day they're at odds with each other, and the next he's gripping her thighs as she rolls her hips down on him, the hard press of his hands sure to leave bruises the next day.

They don't tell Napoleon. He doesn't need to know - and, besides, he already suspects. He notices when Gaby sits and closes her eyes, as if it's painful, and he just smiles and asks if she wants some whiskey.

When Gaby comes home to the hotel after a mission she didn't need the boys for, Illya is always there, playing chess or doing a crossword puzzle, and he looks up for a moment and then back down, saying nothing.

"Hello," she sighs, kicking off her shoes, eyes closed. She tries not to sound exasperated but she can't help it - she had a honeypot mission, and could think of nothing more than getting home and going to sleep.

Illya's expression changes from neutrality to concern, and tilts his head to the side. "You look tired. Come here."

Gaby walks over to him and sits next to him, a loud, audible sigh coming from her, and he looks over and puts down his puzzle or forgets his chess opening, focusing on just her. 

And he pulls her into his lap silently, and the only thing in the air is their breathing, in sync, and she smiles and moves to kiss him deeply. She grinds her hips on his lap and he groans into her mouth, and she can feel him underneath her, right before he rolls her on her back and starts to undo her dress.

The routine is normal, for them, and neither of them are complaining.

\- - -

Illya is surprisingly gentle, Gaby finds, and treats her as if she's made of porcelain. 

She does remind him that she's not. Of course, he's too stubborn to listen.

After sex (which, as she expected, is rough, but she likes it that way, likes how she feels his callouses run on her back or grab her neck, his expert fingers pulling on her hair, the stinging slap of his hands on her skin), his hands move over her softly, feeling every curve and dimple, as if he needs to memorize it to survive. Gaby doesn't mind, of course - she could lay in his arms all day, and sometimes she has, so safe and warm and secure. 

She makes a comment that she's surprised at how he acts and he tells her that a good Russian husband would treat his woman like a queen. 

"Who says you're my husband now?" Gaby asks, looking up at him, in his embrace. She feels a low chuckle in his chest, vibrating against her head where she's laid down.

"It is metaphorical," he clarifies, but she can't see how. 

She's too tired to ask, though, after having gone all day in bed, and would much rather lay in his arms, falling asleep as he hums to himself. 

\- - - 

In the small flat that they share when not on missions, Gaby complains about the cold in the wintertime. Illya rolls his eyes.

"Don't do that!" Gaby exclaims, irritated.

"Do what?" Illya asks. Gaby wants to smack the shit eating grin off his face - he's been spending too much time with Napoleon, she concludes.

"Roll your eyes!" she says, slamming her book down on her lap. "I'm deeply offended."

Illya chuckles lowly, and that just gets her more irate. "Do you need me to make you hot chocolate?" 

"With marshmallows."

Gaby looks up at him and smiles. He glares at her before complying.

He brings over a cup of cocoa, and sits next to her, sipping his black coffee. "Is it satisfactory?"

Gaby takes a sip and smacks her lips, then nods, thoughtful. "It could be better."

Illya sighs. "You are such a smartass sometimes," he says, bringing the coffee cup to his lips.

"You seem to like it," she responds, stretching out her short legs onto his lap, showing him her worn out socks with one big toe missing. He only glances at her before turning back, and she grins. 

"I'm still cold..." she murmurs, and he groans to himself, eliciting a smile from her. 

"What, do you need me to hold you?"

"That's not a bad idea!"

Gaby puts down her cup and moves to curl up next to him, and he tries to act annoyed but can't, especially with her head on his shoulder and her hair smelling of freshly cut flowers. 

No, for as much grief as she likes to give him, he loves his chop shop girl.

Illya lays his head gently on top of hers, holding his cup near his lap. "You know..." he starts, in a pondering tone, "I can think of a better way to keep warm."

Gaby looks up at him, a small grin coming across her face. "Oh?"

"Mhm." He nods, and smiles. "Only if you want to, of course."

She huffs a laugh and reaches up to kiss him, and he puts down his cup quickly, his hands cupping her face. She runs her hands through his perfectly combed, short hair, messing it up, and he groans into her mouth, almost like a growl. Illya sets her down on the couch, but they end up on the floor, with Gaby straddling him.

She takes off her sweater, her hair frazzled, and smiles down at him, mischievous.

Illya thinks he feels his heart skip a beat. 

\- - -

Despite having an exciting life, the two of them prefer to be alone when they can.

That's why they move from their flat to a small cottage in England, where no one could find them - and they like it that way, that only Napoleon knew exactly where they lived, and he would visit from time to time, but then, they see him all the time anyhow.

While putting up the dishes in the new cabinets in the morning, Gaby jumps when she feels a pair of arms wrap around her waist in a surprise, but when she turns she sees Illya, a slight smile on his face. 

It's obvious he hasn't bothered to shave in a few days, as he has stubble scattered across his lower face. Gaby thinks she likes it better that way, especially when his head is in between her legs - 

She breathes a sigh of relief. "Don't do that."

"Why not?"

"How am I supposed to know it's you and not someone trying to kidnap me?" she asks, looking back at him.

He shrugs, thoughtfully. "That is a good point. But it's just me." Illya starts to kiss her on the neck, and she knows he's tired because he only ever acts like this when he's sleep deprived. She isn't complaining, though. She can feels his stubble graze against her neck, and she leans into his mouth, his clever lips working against her skin.

Gaby feels a jolt of lightening go through her when she feels his hand slide down her thigh and between them, rubbing agonizingly slowly at the source of pleasure. "Illya..." she murmurs, but he hushes her. 

He, somehow expertly, pushes her panties aside half an inch and his fingers swipe gently at her, and he smiles against the back of her neck. He slides one finger in, then two, causing a gasp to come from her lips, hips jerking back as he works his fingers inside her. She presses against him, and his free hand sneaks into her robe, feeling her breast and tweaking an already hardened nipple.

When she lets out a shaky moan, she sees Napoleon in the window in front of her and stops Illya altogether.

Illya looks back and sees Napoleon, and the look of disappointment on his face is obvious.

"I thought I would drop by," Napoleon starts, "But it looks as if I've interrupted you two."

Gaby sighs, fixing her hair and robe. "No, not at all."

But Napoleon smiles, knowingly, in that way he does when he knows something is going on but knows he doesn't have to say what. "I'll come another time. You two lovebirds need some alone time."

"Solo-"

He holds up a hand. "Say no more. Call me when I can come over." He walks out the door, a smirk on his face, and closes the door behind him.

When he leaves, Gaby immediately looks up at Illya. "What do you say we christen the kitchen?" 

Illya grins, wickedly, and picks her up around his waist to set her on the kitchen table. Between kisses, he lets a phrase slip out that she can understand- 

"God, I love you."

Gaby smiles as he starts to work down her neck and unties her robe, holding his head with her fingers, and says the words she's only ever said to him twice before (once after a near death experience, another after a night terror).

"I love you, too."


End file.
